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One Wild Finn (The Finn Factor #9)
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From New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author R.G. Alexander, Book 9 in the Finn Factor Series
It all started with a dare. And a wedding. Liquor was involved…
William Finn and Bronte Wayne have nothing in common—unless you count their families, which seem more entwined every day. Oh, and that pesky little issue of them being married.
Bronte is the responsible sister. The plain Wayne. Though her biological clock is not so much ticking as counting down, she’s not the type to get married on a whim. At least, not to an Irish brawler who takes nothing seriously—and is seventeen years her junior.
His American cousins may think William took advantage of Bronte, but nothing could be farther from the truth. From the moment they met, the curvy charge nurse made him want to fight for a future and family of his own—with her. But his past and her doubts keep getting in the way.
The Finn, Wayne and Collins clans have matchmakers and meddlers to spare, but in the end it’ll be up to Bronte to do the responsible thing—the mature thing. Or take a chance and risk her heart on one wild Finn.
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Bronte eyed the design that topped her latte with what she knew was an irrational amount of animosity. It was artistic and harmless and it might as well have been a bug. A white, frothy, clover-shaped bug.
Maybe she was overtired. After driving eight hours with barely four hours of sleep, she was running on fumes, sugar and raw nerves. Her body needed protein and a power nap more than caffeine, but the idea of eating made her queasy and sleep was not in her immediate future.
She’d walked over to the coffee shop as soon as she’d tossed her suitcase in her room, desperate to stretch her legs and grab another jolt of java. The quirky waterfront café would be the perfect place to drink a hazelnut latte and get her bearings.
That had been the plan, anyway.
Shivering, she was seconds away from giving in and reaching for the steaming cup perched precariously on the outdoor patio table when her phone began blasting out Rihanna’s S&M.
Bronte tried to answer before the singer got to chains and whips, but in her haste she nearly dropped the phone and almost knocked over her latte instead.
Na na na come on.
“There’s a foam shamrock in my coffee.” As a greeting, it left something to be desired, but she knew her caller would understand.
“Those bastards.” The uninhibited laughter of Tasha Finn rang in her ear. “Wait, let me try that again, I wasn’t feeling it. Who exactly are we mad at for that?”
“The Daily Grind. And we weren’t really upset until they kindly suggested I drink my latte outside like a leper after accidentally making the little redhead serving me cry.”
“You got kicked out? Oh that’s awful.”
Bronte scowled grumpily. “Stop laughing. I’m now exiled from what—based on the crowd size—is the Mecca of specialty coffee drinkers in this town because of a stupid shamrock. I haven’t even been here an hour.”
She hadn’t lost her temper. Not really. Apparently the grim look on her face when she’d politely asked why Pumpkin Spice had felt the need to get artistic with her order had been enough to have her banished to the patio section.
Maybe you shouldn’t have called her Pumpkin Spice?
Okay, she might deserve the exile.
A light gust of wind made her shiver again, and she wrapped her fingers around the hot cup and took a defiant sip.
It was delicious.
She should have left a bigger tip but…
“Shamrocks,” she muttered, knowing she sounded insane.
This was all his fault.
William Pain-In-Her-Ass Finn.
“It’s March, Bronte,” Tasha said unsympathetically. “Even down there in Baltimore, so I’m sure she didn’t do it to piss you off. Neither did I, but at this moment The Twisted Tart is being decorated like your worst St. Patrick’s Day nightmare. Though I did make sure our sugar cookies were shaped like braided snakes instead of shamrocks this year. Very phallic, a little obscure for the masses, and—now don’t die of shock or anything—it’s already causing quite a scandal.”
Bronte wasn’t shocked. The bakery owner would set tongues wagging even if she weren’t married to state senator and all around golden boy, Stephen Finn. But since she was, everything she did seemed up for debate.
The Finns were well known for being big, sexy pillars of the community—first responders, cops, senators, and of course, owners of Finn’s Pub, an institution in their mini-metropolis.
With Tasha’s kinky, colorful past and equally colorful ancestry—half Puerto Rican, half Irish, all beautiful—it was no surprise she’d been the hot topic once she’d joined the family. She and Stephen were a beautiful couple, but they’d been well on their way to becoming old news until their adorable twin toddlers, Huck and Ned, were spotted around town. Much to their father’s chagrin, those two were precocious and photogenic enough to have their own amateur paparazzi.
“Phallic cookies? For shame,” Bronte chided, taking another sip of the scalding, sweet elixir she should feel too guilty to drink. “What kind of example are you setting for our very own George and Charlotte?”
“You read that article? You should have seen Stephen’s face when he saw the comparison,” Tasha said with a groan. “Did they call my son Charlotte? I was upset for an entirely different reason, of course. First of all, I had no idea Stephen had been approached to run for Governor, so he’s in the doghouse. But more importantly, if we’re being compared to the British monarchy, I’m not Kate Middleton. I know my mother-in-law loves her, but she’s too perfect. She has that Mary Poppins level of perfection that no one could ever live up to. We all know I’m much more Meghan.”
Bronte smirked. “You wish. Along with every female member of my nursing staff under fifty. The royal wedding is all they’ve been able to talk about for months.”
“Well who wouldn’t want that fairytale? A handsome, reformed bad boy from the British Isles and his American black beauty? Wait, why does that sound familiar? I wonder who they could possibly remind me of…” Tasha let her voice trail off teasingly.